The Eyes of the Shadow

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The room seemed strangely silent when Bruce Duncan awoke. It was uncanny in this front room of the old house; he had noticed that before during the month he had lived there since his uncle's death. But the silence had never seemed so ominous as now.

One comfort to his disturbed mind was the beam of light that came through the transom of the door to the right of the bed. It fell upon the hearth of the old stone fireplace at the right wall of the room. Duncan turned his eyes momentarily in that direction; an instant later, he was staring at the window again.

For he had heard a strangely sibilant whistle — close and ominous — as though it came from among the bushes on the ground a full story below the window.

There was a rustle outside as if a slight breath of wind had stirred the thick ivy vines that covered the stone masonry of the house. Then a head and shoulders were silhouetted in the dimness of the open window. A grotesque form slipped over the sill.

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